just try.
the urgency of these words grows.
like thermometer reaching up—
but you’re reaching for a desired temperature.
so what number are you hoping for?
just try.
there’s no more, there’s no less.
there’s no eyes flickering between doubt and stubborn hope.
just try.
my head’s getting heavier
under the mellow sound of a hand-pan.
the lows and highs—the valleys, the peaks.
back of my neck grows longer
as the voice of metal deepens.
the brush, the tap—oh, gentle, gentle tap.
the gravity is pulling down—
chin to the chest.
shoulders collapse.
fingers running,
rushing across the terracotta mirror.
the unfelt energy rises from your toes. in an instant, it gathers at the heart center.
raw. strong.
slowly overwhelming.
you choose to give it your undivided attention. there’s nowhere you’d rather be.
it travels higher—it becomes you,
you become it.
your face is no longer yours—it’s a smooth sheet of paper being crumpled into a ball.
at the peak, the stranger’s body creepily stretches into a flimsy cow pose.
praising the ether.
squinting up.
you explosively transition into a cat shooting the energy back into the limbs.
the ball of paper unravels, each corner pulled back into a smooth sheet.
the body is yours.
again.
“bless you,” I say.
A quiet pause to welcome the day—
You clumsily stomp between staying wrapped in the sheets or getting up, your feet gently stretching as if to test the idea of waking. Rays poke through the old stained floral curtains. You give in to the urge to feel the blood rush through your body as you rise, the deep, soft carpet tickling your soles. You walk to the window, fling the draperies wide open, and—simply—say hello to the world.
Your skin glows in the morning sun. Your eyes water. A nearly unnoticeable movement in the corners of your mouth mirrors your arms shooting up in a stretch to salute the sun.
This moment is precious.
Cherish it.
No need to rush. The world can wait.
Quiet Paragraphs 